


Didn't Feel Like Dancing

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Flashbacks, Forgiveness, Guilt, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt/Comfort, Incredibly tame by trash party standards, M/M, No Healing Cock, Past Rape/Non-con, Unsubtle Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We were talking about dancing."<br/>"Didn't look like talking."<br/>"Didn't feel like dancing."</p><p>Bucky doesn't always remember the things he did as the Winter Soldier. Including the things he did to Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't Feel Like Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily edited fill for a [prompt](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=369483#cmt369483) on the Hydra trash meme:
> 
> Steve was captured by HYDRA(/HYDRA subsidiaries) at some point before CA:TWS. While they had him, he was brutally beaten and raped by the Winter Soldier. The Soldier was wearing a mask, so he had no idea who it was at the time and fought like hell. He managed to escape, and has dealt with it in his own Steve-ish way (ie, by destroying many punching bags) without telling anyone. And then, of course, the movie happens.
> 
> Some time later, Bucky has made his way back to Steve and is beginning to throw off his programming and remember who he used to be. And Steve lets him crash on his couch and introduces him to the last 50 years of Disney movies and doesn't take it personally when Bucky freaks out and tries to kill him occasionally, and is basically just the best thing ever, and Bucky is finally starting to feel like he might be able to be a person again.
> 
> And then, one day, he remembers what he did to Steve.
> 
> Basically, I just want guilt-stricken, horrified Bucky and stoic, forgiving Steve.

The thing Bucky missed out on while he was locked away for seventy years being thawed, wiped, used as a mindless killing machine, and refrozen is that the future is _awesome_. Steve seems to have taken it all in stride, but Steve is intent on not looking like a fuddy-duddy in front of all his 21st-century pals, and besides, Steve wasn't the one dragging his best friend to Stark Expo in 1943 to see the flying cars. Bucky still hasn't seen any flying cars, but Americans have walked on the moon, the whole of womankind seems to have taken a leaf out of Peggy Carter's book, all the summer popcorn flicks are in 3D, and he's got every electronic gadget imaginable packed into a telephone that will fit into his pocket. Screw taking it all in stride, this is amazing.

Yeah, he remembers Stark Expo. That was one of the first things to come back to him once he wasn't having his head fucked with on a regular basis. The memories from before he was experimented on are the brightest; people nowadays only remember the past in black-and-white, but for Bucky it's the '30s and '40s that stand out in vivid color, and the rest of it that's kind of washed-out and jumbled-up. After one terrifying conversation with the Black Widow, he isn't even sure whether half of those recollections are real or implanted, and it doesn't help that they tend to turn up out of context in nightmares and flashbacks rather than plain old memories. He'd almost killed Steve the first time it happened—Jesus, he isn't sure how Steve puts up with him and the razorblade salad that is his head. Bucky would've kicked himself out long ago.

Right now, though, the future is grand. The stack of movies Sam left them isn't going to watch itself, so Bucky's sitting on the couch with Steve's arm draped over his shoulders, shoveling Ethiopian takeout into his mouth and checking his mail on his phone (on his _phone_ ) while he fails to pay a lick of attention to _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo_. 

When he feels Steve's hand tighten on his shoulder, his first thought is _Oh, so we're gonna do this now, are we?_ They'd come close the other night—the Black Widow had walked in on them laughing like idiots as Bucky tried for the thousandth time to teach Steve to dance, because what do you know, seventy years later and Steve still has no idea how to pick up women, and Natasha, well, she'd smiled her Sphinx's smile and told them to watch a couple of _Doctor Who_ episodes set in the London Blitz. Which had led into one hell of a conversation about modern views on... dancing. Afterwards, Bucky'd half-jokingly asked if Steve still wanted those lessons from him, and they'd _known_ , both of them had known how it would end if Steve said yes. But he didn't. Just looked at Bucky like there was something he wanted to tell him but didn't dare, and hightailed it off to bed before Bucky could say _Look, dumbass, I know what you're trying to say, I've known since 1936_.

Now, Steve is clutching his shoulder and keeps glancing over at him with that same wary, expectant, undecided look, and Bucky swallows his mouthful of awazie tibs in a hurry because he's pretty sure he's about to get kissed to within an inch of his life. Then he glances at the screen and suddenly he's glad he doesn't have anything in his mouth to spit out.

"Jesus, Steve, learn to pick your moment. That's _awful_."

"My... what?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Okay, yeah, sure, I forgot. You don't need to learn how to dance and you weren't about to ask me. Carry on."

"This—this isn't about _dancing_." Steve's ears go pink, and he lets go of his death grip on Bucky's shoulder only to fold his hands in his lap and start twisting the takeout receipt into ribbons.

"Well, buddy, you got one thing right. _That's_ just about the opposite of dancing," says Bucky with a nod at the screen. "You want to talk ruining the mood? I feel like I'm gonna lose my lunch, and I've seen some pretty gruesome stuff in my time."

Steve looks like there's a laugh trying to force its way out of his throat but he's too stricken to let it out. He opens his mouth to say something, swallows, then manages a strangled "Sorry" and starts staring fixedly at the screen, not looking at Bucky at all. Classic awkward Steve. Can't talk about it, so caught up in overthinking it that he doesn't even notice some poor girl is going through incredibly graphic hell on the TV while he makes his move, then gets so embarrassed he clams up even harder. They're never going to get there at this rate.

They sit through the next bit of the movie in silence. Steve sure isn't talking; Bucky's done with his email, and he's kind of lost his appetite. As any reasonable person would. Besides, something's starting to shake loose in his memory, and that's almost never pleasant.

It's during the second scene, the one where Lisbeth Salander starts dishing out a punishment to fit the crime, that the flashback hits.

Bucky makes it to the kitchen trash can before he starts throwing up, but barely. Every time he thinks he's got the retching under control, it crashes back down on him: the battered body sprawled on the floor, the blood, the _smell_. Tiny inconsequential details, like shoving his masked face into the back of a bruised, sweat-soaked neck as he panted in animal pleasure (Bucky dry-heaves into the trash bag) and watching all the fine little hairs at the nape stand up with each breath. Blond hairs. His breath and his heartbeat echoing loud in his ears. The man on the floor hadn't made a sound the whole time.

"Bucky?"

Bucky glances up to see Steve standing in the kitchen doorway, and that sets off another round of dry-heaving. "Tell me my mind's playing tricks on me," he rasps when he can string words together. "Tell me it's an implanted memory, at least tell me I've mixed up the faces and it wasn't _you_. C'mon, Steve." He regrets saying Steve's name the instant it leaves his mouth. It feels like he's dirtied it.

"What memory?" says Steve, only it doesn't sound like a question. His face is pale and very, very still, and his mouth is a grim line. Bucky can't tell whether he's remembering right or whether Steve has just put two and two together about what set this off. About what Bucky _is_.

"Abandoned warehouse," Bucky chokes out. "Pallets everywhere, you kicked one up hard enough to tear open my forehead and the blood kept getting in my eyes. Blue uniform, silver star, heavy-duty handcuffs. And I—"

"It wasn't your fault."

Which is all the answer Bucky needs.

His head is spinning, and Steve's just standing there as though Bucky's very presence isn't salt in his wounds. "You... you let me sleep on your couch. You let me sleep in your _bed._ " He sinks to his knees on the cold tile now that there's nothing left in his stomach to bring up. "Every single fucking time I had nightmares, even when I could've killed you, even when you didn't know if I was going to..." He can't say it.

Steve kneels down beside him and _no_ , this is wrong, he never wants to see Steve on his knees again. "Hey," Steve says softly, and lays a hand on Bucky's shoulder. How can Steve bear to touch him? "You wouldn't have. You weren't yourself when you did it, and even then you were questioning your orders. Remember that part?"

He doesn't. It's just horrible flashes. But it doesn't matter. "I still did it." Steve's hand is a burning brand on his shoulder and Bucky feels like a monster twice over, for what he did and for letting Steve be the one to comfort _him_. He's got to get out of here. He stumbles to his feet and makes a break for the front door.

Steve's quicker. He gets between Bucky and the door and bars the way. "Get on the couch," he says, looking pained, and there's a note of exasperation in his voice. It should be more than exasperation. He should be furious. "Just—get on the couch and we'll talk. Don't do anything stupid." 

Bucky's itching to shove past Steve and get _out_ , but the last thing he wants to do right now is hurt Steve any more. Oh God. Oh God, oh God—

He gets on the couch. The movie's paused, still in the middle of the sickeningly graphic revenge scene. If Steve wanted to do _that_ to him, it would be nothing more than what he deserves. Steve should be hitting him, shouting at him, kicking him out. Instead Steve makes a face when he sees what's on the TV and snatches the remote to change the input as quickly as possible. The image winks out and goes back to the music channel they'd had on the other night. The strains of "Moonlight Serenade" fill the deafening silence in the apartment. If Bucky hadn't just thrown up the entire contents of his stomach, he'd be sick all over again.

"Were you going to tell me?" he asks. He feels hollow now, and shaky. His throat's raw. "Or were you just going to let me... I thought you were going to _kiss_ me. You were sitting there, watching that, shook up all to hell and looking at me like you'd seen a ghost, and I thought..." 

"C'mere," says Steve, and holds a hand out to pull him to his feet. Bucky isn't sure what's happening until Steve's other hand lands on his waist and Steve's foot lands on his toes. He's an even worse dancer than he was during their lessons, now that Bucky is too pole-axed to lead while following and Steve has to do all the work himself.

"Steve, what—"

"Listen," he says, dragging Bucky along for a slow, shuffling dance, "what happened happened. I had some nightmares, beat the stuffing out of some punching bags, and moved on. Once I found out the Winter Soldier was you, do you think you were the one I was mad at? For any of it? Any anger I had left, it was for the people who made you do it. That was the worst part. They _made_ you—" 

"I still did it, pal," says Bucky, looking at Steve and trying not to see him with his face broken and bloody, spitting in the Winter Soldier's face in defiance as he was raped. Steve's hand is warm and solid on his waist, and Bucky keeps his right arm dangling limply at his side because if he touches Steve right now he knows he won't be able to feel anything but his hands holding Steve down. "I still remember doing it."

Steve looks at him, and he doesn't look angry at all, just sad. "Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. I'd rather be in my shoes right now than yours." He squeezes Bucky's left hand as he leads them around in slow turns on the floor, and Bucky wonders if he grabbed that hand on purpose to spare him, knowing he can't feel the warmth or the calloused skin, just the pressure. He's pretty sure that if Steve weren't holding him up right now, his knees would give out.

"I'm the one who put you through hell, Steve. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

"Don't hate yourself. That's what you can do." Steve tries to pull him closer, and Bucky finds his balance long enough to step back. If Steve's crazy enough to want to dance with him right now, they're at least going to leave some room for Jesus like Sister Agnes and her ruler would've wanted, or Bucky's not gonna be able to suppress his urge to cut and run.

"I meant for _you_ , you stupid asshole."

"I'm fine," Steve says with a crooked smile.

"You stupid, _lying_ asshole," Bucky says without much heat. "You don't have to act like it didn't affect you. I don't want you doing that for my sake."

Steve lets go of his waist long enough to grab Bucky's dangling arm and drape it over his shoulder. "How about for my sake?"

Fuck it. Steve was always the strong one. If being the strong one is how he wants to deal with this, Bucky's got no right to argue with that. He settles into Steve's arms and lets him lead. "Jesus, Steve," he says quietly. "This whole time—every time I touched you, you remembered that. And you still want to dance with me."

Steve snorts. "Yeah." He doesn't sound very proud of it. "Some things don't go away just 'cause they're messy and inconvenient." He hesitates. Then he takes a deep breath, leans in, and plants a kiss on Bucky's lips.

It's uncoordinated; their noses bump and their teeth clack together. It's a strong contender for the dumbest thing Bucky's seen Steve do in a long, long lifetime of witnessing Steve do dumb things. It's even kind of painful, because Steve slips him a tiny flash of tongue and parts his lips for Bucky to return the favor, and feeling the warm wet inside of Steve's mouth makes it hard not to remember what it felt like to violate him. And if they're going to do this—slowly, with dancing and movie nights and clumsy kisses—then just knowing what Steve feels like inside is like violating him all over again.

It also makes fireworks go off behind Bucky's eyes, just like he always knew it would when they got around to it.

He buries his face in the side of Steve's neck, and can't help but notice the fine little hairs on his nape standing up. Damn it all, he's never not going to remember, is he?

"This won't fix anything," Bucky says into Steve's skin.

On the speakers, Glenn Miller fades out, and now Vera Lynn is crooning "When the Lights Go On Again." Steve stops trying to dance and wraps his arms around Bucky. "No, buddy, it won't," he says. "But we will."

 


End file.
